


hold on to your heart

by scrapbullet



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Family Fluff, Gen, Governor!Thomas, Kid Fic, Light Angst, Multi, Not Beta Read, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: Now, calm, Miranda counts each finger and toe. “You will not want for anything, sweetling. If you asked for the very stars themselves your fathers would reach up and pluck them from the sky to gift to you. Give them but a single smile, and they, I, will give you the entire world in return.”Such promises are easy to make when in the presence of perfection.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Four for a Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7429011) by [DreamingPagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan). 



The babe - small and squalling, red face twisted into an expression of purest anger at being thrust into a world it knows not - rests in Miranda’s arms, pressed against her heaving breast to better hear the beat of her heart. Wrapped in a cloth the child wriggles with discontent as Miranda tries vainly to hush her, stroking the fine hair on the top of the tiny head, rocking gently and refusing to acknowledge what is staring her so plainly in the face.

The child has red hair.

For years, she had thought herself infertile; incapable of conceiving a child in her barren womb. It grieved her, to know that she was not meant to feel a life grow within her belly, and although she and Thomas had tried so whole-heartedly to expand their little family, Miranda had, inevitably, resigned herself to never being a mother. Every month her courses came without fail - a slow and insidious ache that served as a mocking reminder of her failings. Until James.

Oh, James...

Thomas, blond hair dishevelled from raking his fingers through it in worry, settles down beside her on the bed. He has eyes only for the darling tucked in Miranda’s arms - the midwife has long since washed and wiped her clean, taking the bloodied rags and bowls away - and there is a softness in his eyes that eases the fear in her heart. “She’s beautiful.” He laughs, a joyful exultation as he strokes a finger down the short length of the babe’s nose. “You are a marvel, Miranda. Look what we have been blessed with... and her hair! I hope it does not darken as she ages.”

Swallowing thickly Miranda adjusts the babe - a girl, yes, a daughter for them to dote on and fret over, to kiss and coddle and cuddle - to suckle at her first meal. The squirming dissipates, as she is clearly glad to feast on the milk Miranda so gladly gives her. “Thomas-”

“James should be here,” he interjects, plucking her trembling hand between his own to press his lips to her fingers, one by one. The love in his eyes! It burns, so, and Miranda wants to weep from the force of it - does so, even, her eyes stinging hot as she clutches her daughter close. “Oh, darling, no, don’t cry! James has given you, _us_ , what I could not, and there is no shame in it. She is a gift; a blessing.”

Exhaling heavily Miranda rubs at her cheeks vigorously to hide the evidence of tears. “James should be here,” she repeats in agreement. “He is the father of our daughter.” Her lips pull into a semblance of a smile. 

Thomas exudes happiness like the rays of the sun, and the warmth of his regard bolsters the foundations of Miranda’s crumbling world. In the face of his never-ending optimism it is easy to forget how callously society will regard her for bearing the child of another man, a bastard babe courtesy of a low-born lieutenant. And yet, are they not hundreds of miles away from London? Are they not safely ensconced on New Providence Island, far from the machinations of Thomas’ father?

“Go,” she murmurs, “he’ll be fretting, so,” and so Thomas does, with a beatific smile and a last, adoring look at them both. He nearly stumbles over his own feet as he leaves, much to her amusement, so eager is he to inform their James of the new arrival.

 _Breathe_ , Miranda orders herself, _breathe_. Inhale, and take in the scent of the beloved in her arms, who blinks at her with unfocused eyes and sucks strongly at her teat. Such vigour and desire for life! For hours Miranda had laboured to bring her forth, from morning to night to morning once more, and the midwife had feared the baby would not descend, perhaps unwilling to leave the embrace of her mother. But then, _then_ , when Thomas had come to hold her hand she had pushed - _once, twice, thrice_ \- and their girl had come, wet and screaming.

It is a memory not soon forgotten.

Now, calm, Miranda counts each finger and toe. “You will not want for anything, sweetling. If you asked for the very stars themselves your fathers would reach up and pluck them from the sky to gift to you. Give them but a single smile, and they, _I_ , will give you the entire world in return.”

Such promises are easy to make when in the presence of perfection.

* * *

A distinct cry of unhappiness pierces the air. Thomas, having spent a long day governing the island and working himself to the bone, doesn’t even stir from his slumber. Miranda, sprawled across James’ chest, grumbles nonsensically and kicks him in the shin. “It’s your turn to get up.”

Not for the first time, James wonders why they decided against employing a wet-nurse. 

(“God gave me breasts for a reason, James,” Miranda says, amused, gesturing to her ample bosom with one arm and little Lizzie in the other. “What else would I use them for?”)

Lizzie - Elizabeth Aurelia Hamilton, that is - coos up at him from her bassinet at the end of the bed, arms and legs waving wildly in the air. Her simple joy at seeing him is heart-rending, even if at such a tender age she knows him only as one who keeps her clean and warm, who settles her gently into her mothers arms to eat her fill. The trust and love in her eyes is of the purest kind, and from the moment Miranda had placed her in his arms James had fallen fast. 

“Are you hungry, hmm?” James taps her bottom lip, smiling as Lizzie turns her head to gum on his finger. “Or do you need changing?” Carefully supporting her head he lifts her into his arms, shifting so as to rest her neck in the crook of his elbow. A palm on her padded bottom reveals nothing more than dry cloth - a relief, given his lack of practice with such things. Lizzie blinks, hands clumsily catching at the collar of his nightshirt, before releasing a demanding squawk. “That’ll be the former, then.”

Miranda, having curled into the furnace of Thomas’ body, the dessert spoon to his teaspoon, fumbles sleepily with the buttons of her nightgown. “If only you had the necessary equipment to help me,” she mumbles around a yawn, baring her chest and opening her arms to welcome her daughter. “Then perhaps I could get more than an hours sleep.”

“The curse of new mothers, I’m afraid.” James muses with a grin. “And I apologise _profusely_ for the ineptitude of my mammary glands.”

To tell the truth; peace looks good on them. Governing Nassau is a challenge to be sure, but it is one that Thomas relishes - cheerfully commending the wit and intelligence of those pirates pardoned in running circles around certain rules and regulations - and Miranda is overjoyed at the notion of never hosting a high society dinner ever again. James? James has finally settled, after too many months of waiting for the axe to drop.

Thomas, bleary eyed and languid, tugs James down onto the mattress, enfolding him in his arms. His breath is stale, though his kisses are no less wanted. “It’s a godforsaken hour. _Sleep, I beg of you_.”

“Not until your daughter is fed.” Miranda hums, stroking her fingers over Lizzie’s downy head.

Thomas scoffs. “Oh, she’s mine now, hm?”

Lizzie smacks her lips, her satisfaction a balm. Miranda, half in the throes of slumber herself and merely going through the motions, sits Lizzie up to burp her. “She is when she’s sucking me dry.”

“Charming,” Thomas replies dryly, and James, heart threatening to burst out of very chest with contentment, stifles his sniggers into Thomas’ chest. 

Yes, peace does look rather good on them, doesn’t it?


End file.
